


Turnabout

by Siriusfan13



Series: Out of Time [9]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Body Swap, Drama, Even my humor becomes serious, Freaky Friday style fic, Gen, Humor, I tried to be funny, Not Romance, OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfan13/pseuds/Siriusfan13
Summary: For months now, Ushiro has been trying to get inside Battousai's head to help the kid out. He gets more than he bargained for when a night of drinking causes Ushiro and Battousai to switch bodies. How can they switch back? 'Freaky Friday' in Bakumatsu!  A few things to note, though (mentioned in tags, but in case you ignore tags like I tend to)... This will have humor, but it also is meant to get a bit into Ushiro's background.  This means 1) if you don't like stories with an OC focus, this story is not for you and  2) there will be some areas that get darker, because Ushiro is not a perfect person, and Kenshin really didn't know much about him in A&A or OoT beyond surface images.  I just don't want to surprise you by the fact that it isn't just silliness:DStill... I hope you enjoy.  There will be plenty of silliness as well!
Relationships: Himura Kenshin/ OC
Series: Out of Time [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/12173
Kudos: 3





	1. Ushiro

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Kenshin. Wish I did, because if so, then Jinchuu would have been animated by now... (hint, hint to the powers that be...)

**Turnabout**

* * *

_As the saying goes... turnabout is fair play..._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**_Ushiro_  
**

I woke late that morning with a terrible headache. Sunlight streamed through the window that I'd brilliantly left open in my drunken stupor the night before. God only knew what I'd been thinking. _I_ sure as hell didn't. Actually, I had a feeling that I wouldn't _want_ to know what, if anything, had been going through my mind before I'd passed out.

I sighed deeply. Last night had been a stupid plan, if one could actually call it a plan. I didn't drink often... Well, that wasn't entirely true. I drank as often as anyone else. But not excessively. Certainly nothing that wasn't fitting my station. I'd share sake with friends. Occasionally I'd drink to calm my nerves. But I didn't like getting drunk. I'd learned to stretch the time I took on one cup to last two or three drinks of my comrades.

It wasn't just a personal preference either. This was practicality. I'd had a terrible temper in my younger days. I'd been foolish and dangerous, and alcohol had only worsened that. Truth be told, I was _still_ too easy to anger. But I'd learned to control it. Was good enough at it that most people didn't even realize that I _had_ much of a temper. However, I didn't trust my hard-earned control in the face of the freeing power of alcohol. Someone could get hurt.

And if it were Kenshin and I getting drunk together, then that someone would probably wind up being me. I had a habit of opening my idiot mouth while drinking. And I had no idea how _Kenshin_ responded to too much sake.

_God, Katsura's going to kill me for this._

I forced that thought from my mind, already _knowing_ that last night had been a stupid decision, and finding no need to torture myself over something that could no longer be helped. Anyway, I had realized how stupid it was when I'd made the choice. But at the time I'd felt like I had to do something to help Kenshin, and drinking was all that would come to mind. I've probably been spending too much time around Kano. How else would I have come up with such a brilliant idea?

Last night, Kenshin and I had survived a failed run. Our charge had been badly injured and we had been forced to bring him back to base, unsure if he was even going to survive. I was angry about it. We both were. But, unfortunately, these things happened, and, upset though I was, I was used to it. In fact, it was usually _me_ who wound up being the injured one.

Other than a concern for the man's life, the situation should have been dropped as soon as we'd reported to Katsura. But for some reason Kenshin had taken this injury worse than usual. At first the kid had been fine. We'd gone to see the doctor immediately after Katsura had dismissed us. Had both been relieved when the doctor had said that he would live. Kenshin had been fine. Until our charge had begun, in his pained delirium, speaking of the fiancee he had waiting for him back home.

That was all it had taken. Kenshin's entire demeanor had abruptly changed. He'd gone from wearing his usual expressionless mask to looking as though he were going to be sick. He'd immediately excused himself, probably so no one would see the change in his eyes. But _I'd_ certainly noticed and had followed him into the hall, demanding that he tell me what was wrong.

He'd coldly distanced himself, refusing to answer me. Simply stating that he was fine and would retire to his room. Reminding me that I had my own injuries to treat. Again.

I hadn't been willing leaving him alone like that. Something wasn't right in his eyes. Or in his ki. He hadn't even looked like he was really seeing me as he spoke. For the first time, I was afraid of what he might do if left alone to his thoughts. This whole mess had brought about that distant expression that I'd learned to expect whenever he'd touch the scar on his cheek. And I'd never liked the empty feeling that seemed to come with that look.

So, rather than leave him in peace like any sane person would have done, I'd invited him to drink with me last night. Then I'd demanded. After several refusals, and an irritated flash to his eyes, I finally managed to convince him to join me, implying that _I_ needed the alcohol, and that I did stupid things when I was drinking alone. He'd believed _that_ a bit too easily for my liking, but at least he finally agreed, more to babysit me, I'm sure, than to join in. In fact, it had taken forever to get him to drink with me at all, and by the time he'd finally started, I'd already downed a fair share myself.

The night became fuzzy after that. I honestly didn't even remember going back to my room. And I sure as hell couldn't figure out what had possessed me to open the damn window.

I cracked my eye open to check it out. Sunlight streamed into my room, blinding my already sensitive eyes.

Cursing my idiocy, I moaned and buried my face in my hands.

At the touch of my hands, I froze, all thoughts of pain and nausea pushed to the back of my mind as I tentatively ran my hands over my face again, tracing my finger down an unfamiliar mar in my skin. My eyes flew open.

_What the hell?_

I'd been injured hundreds of times since I'd left Tosa. Especially since I'd started working with Kenshin. I knew that I was covered in scars. But I'd never had any on my face before. What had I _done_ last night? Had I been stupid enough to start something while both of us had been drunk?

I hauled myself to my feet, using the wall to keep steady as I stumbled forward a step. My head pounded worse with the sudden change in elevation, and I remained still a moment to regain my bearings. Apparently the sake was still working its magic. Fantastic. And now that I was standing, the sun was shining directly into my eyes. Even better.

Damn sun. Damn window. Damn sake.

 _Damn idiot_ , I thought to myself. _Let's put blame where it belongs, Ryu..._

I touched my face again, then withdrew my hand, studying it. Yeah, I was definitely injured, but even in my fuzzy mental state, I found it odd that even with no bandage, there was also no blood. The cut felt... old. As though it had somehow already healed over. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it had initially seemed? I was going to have to get dressed and talk with Kenshin. See if he could tell me what I'd done. I pushed myself from the wall, my legs and back stiff from sleeping against it. _Wait... what happened to my futon?_ Had I been so drunk that I couldn't even handle a futon? I was really starting to hope that it had only been Kenshin and I in the room. Otherwise, I'd be hearing about this one stupid night for weeks.

I stretched, brushing some loose hair from my face. Had to take care of that, too. I probably looked like hell. It took me awhile to find my comb. It wasn't where I usually put it. After finally digging it out of a chest, I let my hair free from the topknot I'd left it in last night, prepared to comb out a mass of tangles.

I wasn't, however, prepared for the strands of hair that dropped into my eyes, free from their binding. I pulled a lock to dangle it in front of my face, scrutinizing it.

Red.

 _What?_ If I hadn't been so hungover, I probably would have started putting things together by then. But my mental faculties weren't at their best, and instead I wound up trying to _rationalize_ my brand new scars and red hair.

Because things like that could be figured out _logically_... I'm a baka sometimes.

I began pacing, my habit whenever things became too much to handle. _I probably got drunk and pissed off Kenshin. That has to be it._ _I pissed him off and wound up with a gash on my face... Which apparently healed up at an unnatural speed..._ I pushed that crazy thought from my mind. I also chose to ignore the obvious problem that Kenshin wasn't a naturally violent person. I was too busy trying to rationalize the red hair.

Had I been a real ass to him last night? Teased him about his looks or something stupid enough to put him into such a malicious mood that he had dyed _my_ hair to match his while I slept? It was possible, I supposed... Alcohol could turn a man into an entirely different person sometimes...

But had something like that really been necessary...?

 _That little shit,_ I thought, though I think I was more amused than anything. Maybe a little angry, but I quickly stifled my irritation, realizing that such comments were best left in my head. _Maybe I should sober up a bit more before talking to him._

So, I'd probably just pissed him off. Reasonable. I paused in my pacing, considering. And then he'd somehow managed to pull this off without waking me up. All the while drunk, himself.

_Yeah, right..._

It was ridiculous. Though was it really any more ridiculous than my other option, which I'd avoided actually considering?

I looked around again, trying to convince myself that this really wasn't anything impossibly out of the ordinary. A cursory glance around the room confirmed that it wasn't mine. The violent hair coloring theory was losing its battle for likelihood.

I needed to come up with a better explanation. _Now._

 _Okay, then it's a dream,_ I told myself, grasping at straws. _It just has to be a dream._ Of course it was. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

That's right... because I was hungover and still a little drunk. Baka! God, I was never going to drink again...

_A dream. Right. I just need to wake up._

I pinched myself, with no results except an aching spot on my arm. I tried a few more times, until I realized that all I was doing was bruising an arm that didn't look much like mine either... even with the fresh bruises I'd inflicted upon it blossoming over pale skin.

_Dammit._

I needed a mirror or something. Where would he keep a mirror? I looked around the room helplessly.

It really shouldn't have been _that_ hard to find. Everything was in perfect order. _Everything_.

 _God, this room's neat. It doesn't even look_ lived _in._

It was undoubtedly _his_.

Who had time to organize things like this? Though now that I was really looking around, there wasn't much to keep track of. A couple of shinai in the corner. A stand for his daisho, holding only his wakizashi. A quick glance where I'd been sleeping confirmed the location of his katana. There was a tray for bandages. His unused futon.

And a stack of books in the corner, which I'd never seen him read. A new thought struck me as my brain slowly stopped drowning in the alcohol. _Could_ he read? I'd never asked him. But surname or not, I doubted he was samurai. And depending on what caste he was from, he may never have had reason to learn.

I don't know why that of all things would suddenly matter to me in my predicament, but I was suddenly struck with an odd pang as I realized how little I really knew about him. And that, even so, I still probably understood him better than most.

I shook my head, clearing it of these thoughts. _Worry about it later. Right now just find a mirror._ My eyes finally fell on the chest where I'd found the comb. I threw the lid open again with a clatter, and pulled out his sword polishing set, carefully setting it in front of me. Then I began digging through his clothes for the looking glass that I was certain I'd find.

There was a knock at the door, which didn't answer, too distracted by my frenzied search to bother with whoever was out there. If it was important, they'd come back.

I started yanking clothing out of the chest. The visitor was insistent, knocking again. I continued to ignore the sound, pulling out a hakama and a few kosode and tossing them to the floor. There was the tinkling sound of broken glass behind me where the hakama had landed.

I sighed. _Well, I guess I found his mirror._

Another knock, sounding more urgent somehow. "Just a minute!" I snapped, flinching at the sound of his voice slipping from my mouth as I scrambled to grab the remains of the mirror.

There was dead silence for a moment, finally followed by a soft, flat voice. "Ushiro-san?"

He had a distinctive way of speaking. A faint accent that made it clear that he wasn't from Kyoto, nor Choshu either. Although the voice in the hall had clearly been mine, I could immediately tell who had actually spoken. I didn't really need the mirror anymore, though I glanced at it anyway, confirming what I'd already known.

The reflection I saw in its damaged face was not mine. It was Kenshin's.


	2. Kenshin

** Turnabout   
**

_**Chapter 2:** _ _**Kenshin** _

I woke up feeling like I was going to be sick. I knew the reason and was irritated both with Ushiro, who had for some reason felt that last night he needed to get drunk, and with myself for actually _listening_ to him. I should have known better. I usually know better. But he'd said he needed someone to keep him from "doing something stupid" in that state. _And_ , I admitted sourly, _he's one of those people who probably would._

I closed my eyes, trying to will away both the nausea and the headache which was now surfacing. _Why drink that much if you know what it will do to you?_ I remember asking him last night. And his answer? He'd just replied, "Why not? It's been a lousy week."

I wasn't particularly surprised. I'd been getting used to this sort of thing in the past several months since Katsura had put us together. Ushiro didn't often think before he acted. I sometimes wondered if he even thought _after_ he acted. In fact, at times like this, I wondered if he thought at all.

Why _had_ he wanted to drink so badly? I didn't believe the "lousy week" argument. I knew that he wasn't stupid. If he knew he might lose control...

I frowned, puzzled. It didn't make sense, and I hated when things didn't make sense. Especially when I got dragged into it. What had been different about last night? I've seen him drink with others. Watched him stretch out one cup to last far longer than anyone else. Anyone with eyes had to notice how he never makes it through an entire bottle. He's more careful than any man I know when it comes to sake. I had a feeling that even _I_ drank more than he did in a sitting, those times when I bothered to drink at all. I don't know what had changed for him last night.

However, his concern about drinking alone, the "stupid things" he might do... _That_ I could see. As controlled as he is, he has a temper. If things are going fine, he's easy to get along with. Easy to be around. But when something goes wrong, when someone acts out inappropriately or when someone gets hurt, I can feel an angry, dangerous flare in his ki, which I don't like. If he could react like that when sober, then I wasn't surprised that he'd concern himself with the danger of alcohol destroying his self-control. I didn't want to think what he'd be like if he actually _acted_ on that temper...

Come to think of it, how _did_ he act last night? With a start, I realized that I had almost no memory of the night before.

I gritted my teeth. Not good. What had we _done_? I couldn't remember, which meant that we might have done something foolish. And we couldn't afford to make mistakes.

Why had I agreed to this?

I sighed, knowing the answer. Because I didn't want him to pick a fight with someone who'd kill him. He's the only one I can work with... And I don't need him getting hurt. Again.

But so many things might have gone wrong. What if I had said something last night? Something that could harm our cause? Or worse, could harm Katsura? The problem was that the right people, those in a position to act against the Ishin Shishi, would know who we were, or at least who we worked for. They would no doubt listen carefully for anything they could use against us. The only thing we had going for us as a cover was that neither of us were from Choshu, so we weren't identifiable the second we spoke.

Even so, between my hair and scar, I would be instantly recognizable to anyone who knew what they were looking for. Then again, so would Ushiro, with his height... And he talks so much. To _everyone_. Knows everyone, it seems. Though I have to admit, the few times he's dragged me out with him in the past, I'd noticed that he only said enough to be sociable, to put people's minds at ease around him. He somehow knew when to stop, and he always seemed to be able to get that little piece of information that we needed. I suspected that those times we'd gone out hadn't just been for fun; that he'd just failed to mention that he was bringing me along as his bodyguard. As exasperating as he could be, he certainly wasn't a liability. I could see why Katsura trusted him.

He'd make as good a spy as a guardsman. In fact, with his constant injuries, I was surprised sometimes that he _was_ a guardsman; why send out a man who comes back with a new injury after each run? Why not use him for his other skills?

But I knew the reason: because he was good. Not only with people, but with our missions. In public, he was friendly and open, but at work he was quiet, fast and efficient. He would die to protect his charge; even to protect me.

I couldn't figure out why someone like him would push his life so far.

All of this thinking was doing nothing for my headache. All it was doing was lulling me back into a half doze. I needed to get up and get sober.

I pushed myself up from the floor, hoping to clear my head. Maybe jog some memories. I shoved off the covers, readying myself to stand.

With that motion, I froze.

 _Wait... Why am I on a futon?_ I looked around suspiciously. _Why aren't I in my room? Where am I?_ I looked for my katana, but it wasn't at my side. We'd been taken. I stood in a flash, stumbling briefly over the stupid pillow and wrenching my knee painfully. The sudden motion caused another sharp pain in my head, which I did my best to ignore. I steadied myself, displeased with that moment of imbalance. I felt slow and heavy. So, this was what it was like to be drunk. Or at least very hungover. I didn't like it. This would cause problems if we needed to fight our way out. I looked down at the mass of blankets and futon at my feet. My temporary imbalance had kicked the pillow out of the way just enough to expose a wakizashi. I picked it up to examine. Not mine.

Well, at least I wasn't completely unarmed. Small comfort. I wanted _mine._ But this was better than nothing.

Another glance around the room. Katana on its stand—also not mine. I'd best stick with the wakizashi for now. Window partially open, letting a single, bright bar of light in. A print on the wall. I stared at it a moment, my mind clicking into place. That trapped, panicked feeling ebbing. Okami had a print from the same artist in every room of her inn. This was one of them. I was still in the Kohagi. And I was still armed. Not captured, then. No need to figure out where Ushiro was and plan an escape.

Why am I in _here_ though? And why is the window so much lower in this room than in mine? Strange. Whose room...?

 _Ushiro's. Has to be._ He probably just left me here last night when we returned. My grip tightened on what I now recognized as _his_ wakizashi. I wish I could remember where we'd gone. And I wish I knew where he'd put my daisho. Did he hide it? Did he _lose_ it somehow? I could feel a muscle tighten in my jaw. I was probably going to kill him. Just as soon as I found my swords. Or maybe I'd just maim him with one of his own.

I tried to keep my thoughts under control. I just had to find them. It wouldn't be hard. He must have left them in here. They had _better_ be in here... What had possessed him to take my swords? He was right... He did _very_ stupid things when he was drunk.

_If this is his idea of a joke..._

I sighed. Knowing him, it probably was. More than likely, I would have to find my daisho in this mess.

I examined the room again. Well, not really a _mess._ There was clear order to everything. _His_ everything just happened to be more than _my_ everything. My swords were going to be a nightmare to find.

_Sometimes, I really hate you..._

Fine, I'll find my daisho. Then I'll find _him_ and figure out what we did last night.

My eyes roved the room. This was going to take forever. I hoped his headache was at _least_ as bad as mine...

Deciding to start with the most logical hiding places, I moved toward his chest, hoping it would be that easy. I stepped over the blankets and to my surprise, a sharp pain in my stiff knee caused it to buckle, almost dropping me to the floor and making me stumble into the wall.

 _I'm injured?_ I'd just assumed that I was stiff from sleeping awkwardly. _What did I do to my knee?_ He must have gotten us into a fight. _What did you drag me into_ this _time?_

I crouched down again, this time more careful of my injury, reaching for my yukata to see how well two drunken men had managed to wrap the knee. I stopped at the sight of my hands.

_What the...?_

They were large and tanned. My eyes traveled up muscled arms. Slowly, I brought my hand to my face, feeling stubble.

I involuntarily jerked away.

_What?_

That trapped feeling again. Only I wasn't trapped in the room this time. There had to be a logic to this, although I doubted I'd like it. And I was sure I knew whose fault it was. _What's going on? Am I dreaming? Or does this happen when you're drunk?_ I wasn't sure. I'd never really gotten drunk before. I wracked my brain for a logical explanation. _Any_ explanation.

When nothing immediately came to mind, I stared down at my hands again. What else do you do when your body changes overnight? All I could think of was to stare at the parts I could see and try not to think much about the rest.

There was a scar. A jagged puckering of the skin, a shade or two lighter than the rest, running up my forearm from the left wrist. I'd seen that scar before...

Tentatively, I reached up again to run my fingers along my neck, then down my right shoulder, finally finding what I'd been looking for. Two more sets of scars. A present from Okita.

I'd never been wounded by Okita.

Ushiro had. Twice.

This was impossible. But those scars... and this knee... I winced, knowing who _that_ injury had come from as well.

That had happened months ago. It couldn't still hurt from _that_. Could it?

I looked down at it again, actually checking the injury this time. It was wrapped well, carefully supported. Obviously he'd taken care to make sure it was treated. Even so, it still hurt like hell. He'd sworn that it hadn't bothered him in ages, aching only a little in bad weather. I glanced out the partially opened window at the bright sunshine. The weather seemed pretty damn good to me.

_Liar..._

I stood again, glowering at the door. I was determined to talk with him now and clear things up.

I stepped carefully on the injured leg, cursing softly at its painful protest

And though I had a hundred insane thoughts buzzing around in my head, only one was breaking through.

_I can't believe you lied to me..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: A big thanks to lolo popoki, sueb262, and Shirou Shinjin for their incredible beta work. (Trust me... this chapter really needed it). Also, a big thanks to my readers for following this story!
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: Thanks for humoring me in my bit of insanity, and for reading this despite the horrible summary! ^ ^ ; This is called the result of three nights of wicked insomnia... I also want to thank lolo popoki and sueb262 once again for their beta work! Thanks!
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius


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